Wednesday. We sit at the table with the pages of his planner filling the space between us. "Did you talk to your teacher about your missing writing assignment?" He answers, and the beginning of doubt pricks my heart and mind. We continue to talk. A sound becomes present in a corner of my hearing. Crunch. Smack. Slurp. Munch. My head snaps towards this cacophony while the once undetected burning ember of impatience ignites within me. Before a thought crosses my mind, I react. "Chew with your mouth closed!" The unsuspecting recipient of my wrath looks up. Suddenly my attention turns to this one, and my words are not chosen wisely. My heart pounds, my temper flares, my focus scatters.
I breathe in awareness. I breathe out apology. Refocus. Scouts. "I'm going to make a list of calls you need to make tonight for merit badges. How are you coming with snow sports? Have you printed off the worksheet why haven't you printed it off let's find it do you remember who your merit badge counselor is let's write down a script of what you should say what do you mean you don't have his number," I fire in rapid succession. His white flag is raised.
Writing this brings tears to my eyes. There are a series of channels replaying in my mind. Each a similar show.
Tuesday. Started dark and quiet. Alarm ringing. Regret. Snooze. Alarm again. I stumble down the stairs for coffee and hope for a moment of quiet reflection before chaos. Chaos is not expected, however, as I leave for work before the kids are up. Morning chaos is the dad's worry today.
Snowy roads. Backed up traffic. Work. I leave for the orthodontist. Late. I pick up the oldest daughter. We go to lunch. Phone rings. School warns detention for another. This one coughs. Now more phone calls, a doctor's appointment, asthma, medicine, after school, grab snacks, back to work with everyone in tow. Late. Tonight our family presents a talk on communication to top notch nursing students. My badge is missing, the elevator opens and a brand new baby comes on, we exit because my bigs have big germs and this little needs to fight. My hands shake, my heart pounds, not ready, I smile, we begin. Everyone home. Everyone shower. Everyone bed. I sit.
Webster defines the word unfocused as "not relating to or directed toward one specific thing (such as a particular goal or task)."
I argue internally. You're unfocused. I am focused. On the calendar. On the next presentation. The next game. The next assignment. The next book. The next class. The next need. The next unexpected. Raising children. To reach their potential. To love their Father. To have opportunity and respect that opportunity. A job. That stretches me but pulls me from those children at times, and other times brings us together. On being a Proverbs 31 wife and rising to the task of being the wife God calls me to be. Being a daughter. Knowing what it means to be the daughter of a woman who raised me well and is independent and growing in age.
I am. Focus. Unfocused.